Starlight
by MrBenzedrine
Summary: Heartfelt one-shot Dramione. Draco and Hermione only have the starlight. It's their only connection to when things were better. To when *they* were better. Can the starlight help them find their way back to each other? Rated M.


**Starlight**

 **By MrBenzedrine**

 **To: waymay**

 **A/N: Because I love you. And you deserve the starlight.**

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I will not make a profit from this story._

 _I wrote this as a gift to my very dear friend, waymay. Her writing prompt:_  
 _Always at the same place at the same time, but always just missing each other. Rekindling an old flame._

 _We have Starlight._

 _Summary:_  
 _Heartfelt one-shot Dramione._  
 _Draco and Hermione only have the starlight. It's their only connection to when things were better. To when *they* were better. Can the starlight help them find their way back to each other? Rated M._

 _Also, inspired by a youtube short story called "Strangers, Again" by Wong Fu Productions. Please, go check it out._

 _Thank you to LightofEvolution for helping me develop this compelling story, for feeding me plot ideas, and editing this with waymay! Love you!_

 _Song credit during "Honeymoon" -'It Will Come Back' by Hozier_

 _Here. We. Go._

* * *

" **We are drawn together like drops of water, like planets**

 **We repulse each other like magnets, like the color of our skin."**

 **-Tite Kubo**

* * *

" **Without You" by Oh Wonder**

 ***(*)***

Time healed all wounds. That's what her mother told her when she was little and didn't understand the world. Time was a soothing current, never ceasing, always in movement, eroding everything in its path. And that included love.

Pain.

Heartache.

Memories.

'This too shall pass.'

But time never moved quick enough. Never, Hermione Granger thought as she boarded the morning train on her way to downtown London. Her fingers grasped the grip assist handle as she waited for others to board or leave. How long had it been since they'd last spoken? Two years? Memories blended. She wished she wrote it down. It hadn't been much. A simple, 'Hello.' A connection of eyes. She had been too afraid to say much else, and he hadn't been much better. 'Hi, there.' And then, the moment was gone. They were simply ripples in the current of time, moving outwards and only touching on occasion. They used to be ocean waves, crashing against each other. Now, they were two ships passing in the night. How long would it be until their paths would converge again?

 ***(*)***

Wake up. Check the time. Groan. Five more minutes. No waking up. Waking up meant emptiness. Waking up meant…

Five more minutes gone. Emptiness? Check. Empty bottle of rum? Check. His heart was on the floor somewhere… Oh. Next to the rum.

Get up. Brush teeth. Clothes. Breakfast. Satchel? Check. Couldn't look himself in the eyes. No. He didn't look many people in the eyes anymore, and, least of all, himself. If she can't, he can't. He hasn't been able to, really, since…

Wand? Got it. Wallet? That, too. It was the same one she gave him on his birthday three years ago. It's faded, worn, could probably be thrown away, but he wouldn't do it. If he did, it would be the last piece of her gone. He couldn't stomach it. It was bad enough that so much time passed to build a wall between them, and yet he kept taking down the bricks, hoping to avoid the inevitable. He didn't want to face the fact that they were no more than strangers, again.

Smirk? Check. Draco Malfoy couldn't leave without his smirk. It was as much a part of him as her.

Breakfast? No. Too much rum from the night before. Breakfast would only make him sicker than he already felt. But it was Friday. Draco could always count on Fridays. He marked another X on the calendar.

Even if a storm beat the rain against his bedroom window something fierce, he could _always_ count on Fridays.

He only wished she would see the crack in his foundation -would meet him through the peephole, just the once. Damn these walls. Damn the emptiness. Damn.

 ***(*)***

She could have used the floo to work. Most other Ministry staff did -but Hermione enjoyed the peaceful hum of the train rails and the time between to put her headphones over her ears and listen to the peaceful music from her cassette player. She knew it was outdated, but it reminded her of simpler times, and she always appreciated the nostalgia. Most magical folk would scoff at the use of muggle items, but not Hermione. They were as much a part of her as the magic which hummed in her bones: two halves of a complete world.

The rain pattered against the windows of the commuter train, but it was barely a whisper over the melancholy guitar strums of the song. _Their_ song. She didn't know why she would subject herself to this torture every few months or so, but when she felt down, she would pull the old cassette from its spot in her dresser drawer, underneath her socks, and she would take it to work with her.

It was raining then, too, the day they found each other again. Not that it was hard to miss him. Everywhere he went, a storm cloud rattled over his head, striking everything in his path.

* * *

 **Stage One: Meeting**

 **"Sarah Smiles" by Panic! At The Disco**

 ***(*)***

"Merlin- _fucking_ -damn-it. Yeah, watch where you're going, you sodding bellend!"

His voice could be heard over the bustling crowd of people sloshing their way through the wet streets of Diagon Alley, over the thunder clapping above, over the slow hum of a passing train somewhere off in the distance. Draco Malfoy was his own, personal, detriment.

She spotted him from across the street, her hands full of books she was ready to donate to the local shop just around the corner. The stasis spell around them shielded the tomes from the onslaught of rain, so when she stopped at the sound of the commotion, she didn't think about how she blocked off the ongoing traffic behind her. Her eyebrows drew together in listful concern, catching sight of the white-blond atop his head as her first indicator. Though they hadn't seen each other in five years, it was hard to forget a set of locks that noticeable. As if his sneering, powerful voice wasn't enough. He didn't notice her watching as he stepped forward, to the edge of the sidewalk, and retrieved a soaking, leather bound book from the gutter.

Hermione couldn't hear him, but she could read his lips just fine. 'Sod-it-all.'

"Mione?" A soft, warm voice called out to her, catching her attention and forcing her to turn her head to the side. Just a ways down her own pathway stood Harry and Ron, huddled under the protection of a large, onyx umbrella. Green and blue glistened back towards dusty brown. It was Ron who spoke. "Coming?"

It was then that Hermione realized she had taken herself out of the shade of the umbrella -and while her books were perfectly safe, her hair now dripped water down her curly ringlets, sopping them to the sides of her face like wet noodles. She turned her head back towards the agitated man across the street, still swearing as he attempted to dry his book. The pages were stuck together, and, even from how far away she stood, she could see the ink bleeding. It must have been old, that book. Old and expensive. What treasures were lost in the water tomb the rain had made for it? She doubted even magic would save it at this point.

"You boys go on ahead," she said, smiling back their way. "I… just remembered something."

"Remembered?" asked Harry, exchanging glances with his redheaded friend. The two couldn't spot the aristocrat from their current positions, lost in the sea of commuters. Holding their position was all they could do to be kept from being swept in the current of the crowd. With Halloween approaching, the shops were packed tighter than Dolores Umbridge in a pink, tweed pantsuit. "Remembered what?"

Hermione didn't answer, simply waved them on and stepped off the edge of the sidewalk, across the pavement, and out of sight. She wasn't sure why -perhaps it was the curiosity of the book he was so adamantly disgusted over losing that peaked her interest enough to approach him. He took no notice of her as he brushed shoulders with a passerby, cursing him under his breath for daring to touch him at all. His pale tresses, usually slicked back but now waterlogged, clung around his face like a halo -but Draco Malfoy was anything but angelic. Ethereal, perhaps, but never angelic. The scowl written across his brows turned to disgust as he pursed his lips and withdrew his wand.

"Are you going to try to dry it? In this rain?"

His grey eyes swooped up from the book, mouth half-open, prepared for a spell, when he caught sight of her. The moment their eyes connected, the stars were written. Neither of them knew it, but that was the moment: their fabric of reality started sewing together, stitch by stitch. All it ever took was a moment.

With rainwater dripping off the tip of his nose, Draco raised a critical eyebrow three shades darker than his hair and said, "Oh, _joy_." The drawl in which he spoke left nothing to the imagination; he was anything but happy to see her. "Hermione Granger. To what do I owe this… displeasure?" His eyebrow sat perched like an eagle ready to swoop at any sign of fear from the witch who stood before him. He held all the arrogance of his father's stance, along with his mother's grace and poise. A perfect representation of pureblood status, mixed with the tainted besmirchment of the faded mark on his left arm, no doubt hidden beneath the sleeves of his winter pea-coat.

"You dropped your book." She gestured towards the waterlogged scrap in his hand.

"I didn't drop it," he grumbled, "Some tosser ran into me and knocked it out of my hand."

"Either way," she replied, reaching out carefully and trading him her stack of dried books for his soaked one. He didn't get a choice in the matter -she simply shoved them over and pried the book from his hand before she brushed her fingers over the title. ' _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_.' Oh, but this was one of Hermione's favorites! It looked older than her own copy, tucked safely away in her flat across the city. "It appears ruined."

"Wonderful deduction," Draco sneered back. "Marvelous. You, truly, _are_ the brightest witch of our generation."

Hermione scowled. "I would have thought you a bit more pleasant after all these years. But," she feigned a sigh, "There you go, proving me wrong. I suppose I can't be right about _everything_ , can I?" The confusion written across his sharp features made the corners of her mouth turn upwards. "I didn't know you enjoyed children's books."

"Hmph."

"It's actually quite… humanizing."

"It was my mother's…" he said quietly, still cradling her books across the length of his forearms.

"Was?"

"She…"

Oh. That was right. Hermione had nearly forgotten -how long had it been? Six months ago, perhaps? "I'm sorry," she said at once, her eyes falling to the ground in a fit of embarrassment, "I… I remember now. It was all over the papers…"

"Yes. Amongst other things," he said, tilting his head to the side. There was a long silence, followed by, "Granger?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you… do something different with your hair?" The scowl he usually wore was replaced with something else: a sense of… calm. Though the rain beat down on both their heads, and the crowds knocked them every once in awhile by the shoulder or the kneecaps with their shopping bags, neither of them moved from their rooted spots. They simply rested there, facing each other, two ripples in a current converging pathways once again. Life, social status, friends, the War -it all had sent them into different rivers of life. Perhaps it was fate that destined them back into the same pool. Time had a funny way of doing that to people when they least expected.

"Erm… no." She shook her head, smiling bashfully. "Not unless you count rainwater. And if so, I'd like to point out the change to _your_ appearance as well."

He chuckled. Standing in the middle of Diagon Alley, soaked in rain, his mother's book ruined, he still managed to find the will to _chuckle_ at her quip. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end -but in a good way. Shock didn't have to mean in a negative light. She dared to glance up and caught him eyeing over her pile of books as rain pelted against her stasis spell. An amused smirk trailed up his lips as he read aloud, " _Hogwarts, A History, revision two_?"

"Yes." She cleared her throat just as a cool gust of wind swept through the streets and caressed her down to her bones. Hermione shuddered at the same time he did. She continued, "Revision three was released Tuesday, and I hoped to pick up a copy. These," she reached out, placed Draco's book on the pile, and took the stack from him, "Are all being donated today."

"You just donate your books? Just like that?"

"Yes, Malfoy," she replied, tempted to roll her eyes. "Some of us don't have lavish mansions in which to store all of our books for eternity. Some of us have to make room for the new." Her face softened, glancing down to his destroyed book. "...You're welcome to come with me," she offered, "If you'd like. It's a used-bookstore, which I know you might detest, but you'd be surprised what you might find. Maybe you might find an edition from the same year to replace this one? -N-Not that I think your mother's book is replaceable." She clamped down on her tongue. _Stupid, Hermione. Simply stupid. You can't simply replace a family heirloom just because it was made the same year._

Another gust of wind, and Hermione closed her eyes as the icy rain slapped at her face. She was just about to inwardly scorn herself for leaving her umbrella behind with Ron and Harry when something warm and soft draped over her head at the same time that her books were plucked from her arms. She opened her eyes to find a winter peacoat, still soaked, but warm from body heat, tucked over her head and around her shoulders.

And then their eyes connected again, and the raincloud above their heads didn't look as daunting. Draco wore a smirk on his face worthy of a dastardly prince from one of Hermione's books and cradled her stack under one arm. "Which way?"

"What?"

He rolled his eyes. "To the bookstore, Granger. Keep up."

"You want to go?" _With me? To be seen out in public with_ _ **me**_?

His smirk softened. "You're the first person who didn't try to offer condolences about my mother's passing or make some degrading remark about my…" His eyes trailed downwards towards his left arm, which held the books. "Anyway," he cleared his throat, "If you think they might have another copy…"

It was then that Hermione realized he was coatless -she wore _his_ coat around her shoulders now. The olive cashmere sweater he donned clung to his chest and arms, soaked all the way through. It humbled him, somehow. Perhaps it was because he'd given up his source of warmth to her. Why ever would he do that?

"Are you going to stand there gawking all day, or can we get going?" he snapped in a crisp tone, catching her attention.

"Right." She straightened her shoulders and wrapped the coat tighter around her face. It smelled like tea leaves, peppermint, and hints of parchment. Oh, why did it smell like parchment? "Um… this way." She motioned with her head towards the opposite side of the street, right back in the direction from whence she came. But this time, as her foot stepped off the sidewalk and onto the cobblestones, she wasn't alone. Another pair of footsteps fell in stride with hers, moving into her current, spiraling down the same river together once again.

* * *

"Mr. Malfoy?"

Talking. Someone was talking. He couldn't be bothered. His fingers traced over the book brought forth from his satchel, over the raised leather and deep grooves of the words ' _The Tales of Beedle the Bard.'_

"Mr. Malfoy. The designs. Do you approve?"

Fuck the designs. Fuck all of them. Why were some days worse than others? Why was today one of those days? Fuck. Carrying the bloody book around with him did him no good at all. But it was a habit. He always kept his mother's copy on him as a child. When he went off to Hogwarts. And again, that fateful day he'd ruined it. If he hadn't been so careless… so foolish as to keep it with him, perhaps he wouldn't be sitting here, listening to things he cared nothing about and pining over someone who cared nothing about him. Not anymore, at least.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes," he muttered bitterly, tucking the book back in his satchel and rising to stand. "It looks great, Jameson. Brilliant work." Terrible work. How could anyone get anything done? How did the world turn the way it did, as if it weren't crumbling beneath his feet? "Have Bolt send over the final prototype. I have to go."

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy. Of course."

 ***(*)***

Work felt tedious, out of place. Normally, she threw herself into it, but today she found herself gazing over the same sentence over and over again. Had she accomplished anything, taking this job? She felt as if she was going nowhere in life. She told herself she'd made headway in her accomplishments, but… time seemed to still here, in her cramped office. Minutes felt like hours. Hours felt like days. It was suffocating, focusing all of her efforts on a cause that no one deemed worthy of a War Hero like Hermione Granger. But S.P.E.W. meant so much to her. She couldn't give up on it. Not now. Not after all of the years she poured into getting this branch at the Ministry approved.

This used to be something she felt so passionate about. She would wake up every morning bright and early just to get to the office to work. Now, she counted the minutes until the six o'clock chime rang and she was free to leave. She never told anyone about her feelings towards her own program; Harry would understand, most likely, but he was so busy with the Auror division, and Ron with the joke shop, and Ginny with Quidditch… they were doing the things they loved in life. They were fulfilling their passions. But what was Hermione's passion? She wasn't sure anymore. She thought it was the S.P.E.W. But… why, then, did she feel so empty inside?

Days always blended during the workweek, but on Friday, she knew she could at least have one bright source of light in her ever dimming world. It was why, when 5:59 stared back at her from her watch , she began to pack her things. By 6:00, she was out the door and on her way towards the lift.

She rolled on the balls of her feet as she stepped out of the lift and towards the floo. Her heart pounded in her throat. All she needed to do was make it home, grab some dinner, and then…then she could stare at the stars. It's all she ever wanted to do, anymore.

Home. A bite to eat. The planetarium. Stars. She needed to see the stars tonight.

 ***(*)***

So much rain today. Why was it always raining? Didn't the weather have anything better to do? Or did Draco's foul mood always bring it on like he was the Norse God of Thunder? He hadn't been aware of where his feet took him until he already stood in front of the wide, rounded path.

Stretch the legs. And the arms. Loosen the muscles. Run.

It's all Draco did anymore in the evenings. Rain or shine, he ran the graveled pathway into the woods behind Malfoy Manor that circled the gardens. It was meant for courting strolls, back when those types of things were common, but now it remained as Draco's personal track. Running made the pain lesson. Running helped keep his adrenaline in check. Running. It's all he was good at anymore, wasn't it? Running from his problems. Running to keep everyone at arm's length. He couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken to his father. Or another human being outside of the company he managed. Alright, there was that one time he ordered muggle take out, but he would never tell another soul about that.

His feet hit the pathway in even strides as he inhaled through his mouth and out through his nose. With each inhale, he pulled in his stomach; with each exhale, he tightened. And with each breath, he became more in tune to his body, to the pulse in his neck, to the slow warmth which spread through his legs, to the rustle of the wind in his ears. The rain came down in sheets around his head. Draco knew he could have used some charm to keep himself dry, but he relished in the icy blasts of water droplets that smacked him hard in the face as he fell in step with the beating of his heart. Each gust of cold wind sent a shock through his body -he loved it. He loved the shock of it all. He deserved it. Merlin, he deserved it.

How long had it been since they last kissed? Held hands? Managed eye contact in the same vicinity?

His white t-shirt clung tightly to his chest -his running shorts felt like weights added to his legs.

Run. Run some more. Forget about her. Forget about her. Forget about her. She'd already forgotten about him.

Draco wasn't ready for the rock so savagely sticking up from the gravel -it caught his shoe and, with a startled growl, his leg gave way and he fell.

Pain. Fuck, there was so much pain. Was that blood? Yeah. It was blood. Just a scraped knee. Bruised elbow. He'd be fine. _Get up_. And he did. The rain washed the blood from his palms, and, with a stumble, he fell back in sync with his running, not allowing the pain to hobble him. This, after all, was what a Malfoy did when faced with difficult moments. _Ignore the pain. Push it deep down_. A new bottle of rum waited for him back in his room.

And his heart. Fuck, if his heart wasn't here, what was he running to? What slammed away mercilessly in his chest, keeping time with his feet?

Regret. That's what.

* * *

 **Stage Two: The Chase**

" **Beautiful Soul" by Jesse McCartney**

 ***(*)***

"And then I said to him- I said - Go on! I dare ya! Make my day, you slime-nosed git!" Blaise raised a bottle of butterbeer to the table, brandishing it like a sword -or perhaps a baton. Draco wasn't sure. What he _was_ sure of, however, was that the clock was approaching eight o'clock, and he had somewhere to be.

"Ohahaha, Blaise, you simply must stop!" Pansy giggled into her hand while simultaneously pushing Blaise in the shoulder. The two had flirted non-stop for most of the evening, and it worked Draco's last nerve down to the quick. He wasn't the only one irritated; Goyle stared down into his own brew, red in the face. Everyone knew he contained a large crush for Pansy, who, at the moment, was crushing his heart. Draco reached for his winter coat behind his chair, but before his fingers could grasp around the fabric, he heard the knock of a beer being slammed on the table, and he turned his attention back around.

"Where do you think you're going?" Blaise asked, staring down his friend with skeptical eyes.

"You honestly didn't expect me to hang out with you lot all evening, did you? I've places to be." Draco smirked, reaching behind him and retrieving his coat without glancing. He pulled it over his shoulder and into his lap before fishing through its pockets and retrieving his coin purse. He threw down ten galleons and stowed the rest back safely inside his coat. "Drinks on me tonight, gents."

"Excuse you, Draco. I'm a lady." Pansy stuck her nose in the air.

"Says you," Draco quipped, ducking his head as a fork nearly hit him square between the eyes. The table roared to life with laughter -even Goyle cracked a smile.

"Where are you off to?" asked Blaise again. Draco couldn't be bothered with it. He stood from the table and slipped into the sleeves of his coat before buttoning it down the front. "Oi!" his friend called as he stepped away, "Draco, I'm talking to you, mate!"

"Like I said!" Draco called back over his shoulder, sending his friends his snarkiest smirk of the evening, "Places!" He waved his friends _au revoir_ and pushed the door of The Three Broomsticks out into the open air. It wasn't raining tonight, and for that, Draco was thankful. He took off quickly, a small spring in his step as he made his way down the streets of Hogsmeade. It wasn't by happenstance that his friends managed to pick a bar not too far down the street from where Draco needed to be; he was Slytherin enough to know when to casually plant the seed of suggestion into someone's head -tonight, it happened to be Blaise. Later tonight, he hoped it would be Granger.

Draco detested the idea of Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop. It was, however, where she suggested they meet for drinks before searching Tomes and Scrolls for the infamous _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ leatherbound. The 17th century edition to replace the one destroyed just short of a month ago to that damned slow-draining gutter. Secretly, Draco knew he could probably order a house elf to fetch it for him, but… this time with Granger… it was fun. She didn't hold his Dark Mark against him like he expected her to. In fact, she never brought it up. Granger treated him not as an ex-Death Eater, but as a _human being_. She laughed at his jokes, even when they were about her, and would quip back with such ferocity that Draco often lost the battle. She never relented in trying to find a new book to replace the one he lost. Her resolve stayed firm, even after they had searched five different book stores, to no avail. She didn't hold him to the same expectations most others did. He didn't have to put on, or show off.

He didn't _have_ to, but he _wanted_ to. Something about running into the muggleborn witch that day was like a lightbulb turning on in Draco's head. It had been so bleak and dark before her arrival back into his life, but now he saw the world grow just a bit more colorful every day he was with her. She saw the world differently - as a place full of lessons and stories. All Draco could see were buildings, people, and the space between.

She was there, already, seated just outside on the patio, bundled in her own red-wool coat with buttons the size of baby fists that were obnoxiously too big for the attire. It looked homemade -and perhaps it was. She often talked of Molly Weasley knitting and sewing all of her friends and families a variety of clothing for any holiday. Just last week she wore a lopsided, lemon colored beret that made her look like the tip of a sun-colored phallus -to which Draco pointed out and earned a scarlet blush in response. It had been a very good day.

As he approached, he noticed there was a second cup of tea on the other side of the table, still piping hot. He watched the steam rise from the top as he pulled out the chair across from her and took a seat, mumbling under his breath, "Hello."

"Hi." She smiled at him, sitting up straighter in her chair as she scooted closer to the table. Her gloved fingers wrapped around her cup of tea as she cradled it and took a delicate sip. "Mmm… you said you liked honey, yes?"

"Yeah," he replied, letting the edges of his lips curl up in a smirk as he reached for his own cup and sipped. The tea tasted sweet, like sugar quills, but light, like watered-down lemonade. Much better than the firewhiskey he drank earlier. He tried to suppress a happy groan, but it escaped ever so slightly in the form of a soft express of air. There was a sound to go with it -and it sounded so unmasculine he countered it by clearing his throat and sneering, "Who dressed you this evening? The Queen?"

Hermione stuck out her tongue before parrying, "You're just jealous you couldn't pull it off."

"I think you'd blush if I did," he replied with a small wink. Oh, and there went that blush again, crawling up the skin of her throat all the way to her pretty little cheeks. Yes, seeing Hermione Granger blush was something he strived for on a weekly basis. At first, it had been for torment. Now… now it was something different. Something more… _personal_.

He listened to her clear her throat and watched as her shaking fingers wobbled her teacup back down onto the table. "So… any luck this week? With finding the book?"

Draco's ever-growing smirk widened. "Nope." Not that he went looking on his time away from her. A part of him feared of finding it. What if she never spoke to him again after? What if this was all for pity's sake? Aside from his fellow Slytherin brethren who knew him before the War, not a single person showed him any amount of kindness. Not even when his mother passed. Yes, there were the awkward consolations. _'Sorry for your loss.' 'Anything we can do, really.' 'She's in a better place.'_ That one always got to him. Better place? Being buried in the family tomb was 'a better place'? Draco never gave much thought to the afterlife. All he knew was the here and now. And, at the moment, that meant a mysterious, eager eyed Gryffindor who smiled at him with such tenacity he raised his eyebrows and asked, " _What_? Have I got something in my teeth?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. Your teeth are quite clean. And white. How are they so white? Do you use a spell or…?" She tucked her head. "Sorry. My parents are dentists. I'm always in awe of good oral hygiene."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you just paid me a compliment," he quipped as the smirk turned into a smile.

Again, she cleared her throat, and after that managed, "I have been known to give a compliment or two in my day."

"Yes, but to _me_?" He _tsked._ "Doesn't that go against some moral code you Gryffindors strive for?"

She shot him a smirk worthy of his own. "You're one to talk about morality. Tell me, where did you leave yours?"

"In the bible in my drawer." He leaned over the table. "Not much good it ever did anyone, I say."

She rolled her eyes. "Typically Slytherin, always complaining about what you could get out of something instead of taking life by the bridle and commanding it."

"Typical Gryffindor, thinking you can control the way the world works. Do you honestly think you have _any_ say in your life?"

"I do."

"Why is that?"

"I'm sitting here, drinking tea with you, aren't I? And even when everybody says…" She stopped herself, realizing her mistake. Draco tensed, setting his tea back down on the table, the flavor suddenly extremely bitter in his mouth.

"Go on," he goaded, "What does everyone say?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Sure it does." He leaned forward. "Go on, Granger. On you get. Tell me in great details about all my depravities. I'm sure you've been dying to. Surprised you haven't by now. Bet it's just been eating away at your goody-goody insides."

"Draco, that's _not_ fair."

His stomach twisted. She never used his given name. Not in the entire time since they'd started to meet with each other. Hearing it, even if it was used in scolding, was like hearing her whisper a prayer from her lips. It prickled his ears, did things to his lungs. His tongue felt heavy. His feet were lead. Even if he wanted to leave the table, he couldn't. "Why _isn't_ it fair?" he asked, slowly.

"Because," she replied, inhaling the evening air. As she released her breath, he could see it leave her nose, filtering out, becoming just another puff of carbon dioxide. "I _happen_ not to _care_ what others might think. And I _happen_ to enjoy your company."

He blinked. "You do?"

She smiled. "I do." Hermione reached down, retrieved something from her duffle bag at her feet, and placed it on top of the table. There, in all its glory, sat a leather bound book, its pages worn and yellow, but very familiar. He blinked again. "It's the same edition," she said, pushing it across the table to him. "I might have used my status at the Ministry to pull some strings…"

Draco's heart froze in his chest. His throat tightened. He forgot how to breathe. All he could do was look between her and the book, a mixture of adoration and worry written across his face.

"You don't like it?" she asked, frowning as she picked it back up and looked over the binding. "It's in pristine condition, I think, considering how old it is. The previous owner had it in a stasis charm for nearly a century-"

"It's brilliant," he muttered, cutting her off. His eyes now rested on the book in her hands. "It's… it's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me, really. I…" He swallowed a forming lump in his throat and bit the inside of his cheek. "You… thank you." He reached out. "May I?"

Her frown disintegrated, replaced with a relieved smile. "Of course. It's your book, now. Do what you'd like with it." She offered the book out between them, and, when he took it, their thumbs brushed against each other. Small. Innocent. Completely unintended, but it still sent a warm tingle down Draco's spine. He looked over the binding, undid the leather tie, and opened it, taking in the scent of old parchment and ink. He loved the scent of an old book. It, then, dawned on him… "Shite, Granger. This must have cost you a fortune. How much do I… you couldn't have possibly been able to _afford_ this?"

She waved her hand around, dismissing him. "The Ministry pays War Heroes a great deal of money to simply stand around and look pretty at their functions. I had some money saved back for a _rainy day_." She tilted her head towards the book.

"No." Draco shook his head. "You're not paying for it. How much do I owe you?" He sat the book down on the table and reached inside his pockets for his coin purse. As he brought it out, a small giggle escaped her lips. He narrowed his eyes. " _Now_ what are you laughing at?"

"A coin purse?" She outright laughed. "That's a bit old fashioned, don't you think?"

"Hmph." He scoffed at her. "Not _all_ of us feel the need to let go of our heritage."

"But just enough," she noted, "After all… you wouldn't be here with me, right now, if you didn't let go of it just a little…" Her voice trailed off, and she dusted her gaze over the book, pursing her lips. "I suppose now that you have it, you won't want to see me anymore."

The tightness in Draco's chest doubled. "Why would you think that?" he whispered, stoic.

"I think the answer is obvious."

Draco looked at the book between the table, down to his shaking hands, and then up to Hermione. "Not to me, it isn't."

She glanced up, and their eyes met. "What does that mean?"

"It means…" He swallowed, yet again, fidgeting. "It means…" he looked to his coin purse. "If you won't let me pay you back in money-"

"-I never said that-"

"-Then," he ignored her, "You'll have to let me pay you back in some other way."

Another blush crept up her collar, staining all the way to her ears, which were the color of her hideous coat. "O-Oh?" It was her turn to swallow, shifting in her chair. "And, um… how… how would you go about that?"

"Drinks, for starters." He allowed himself to smirk. "And none of this weak stuff, either. Not that I'm not a fan of it, because I very much am." He reached over the table, overlapping her hand with his own. "And then, perhaps dinner? I don't know about you, but I'm starving. -And, you have to admit -you look a bit peckish."

Hermione stared down at his hand, blinked, and then smiled back up at him. "I do, don't I?"

* * *

Draco's feet slammed against the gravel as he approached his fourth mile marker. Sweat glistened off his skin, even against the drenching rain. His lungs burned. His knee was numb. All he wanted to do was go home and drown himself in his new bottle of rum until he no longer felt the storm inside his mind.

No, he told himself. Run another mile. Sweat it out. Clean up. Get dressed. See the stars. The rum could wait.

 ***(*)***

The Longbottom Planetarium opened at the edge of Hogsmeade two years ago, funded by Neville, Harry, and a handful of others whose families were affected by the War. It sat just towards the East set of town, a towering dome meant to raise money for the Janus Thickey Ward and provide an educational experience (free of charge) to the students of Hogwarts on their Hogsmeade trips. Hermione helped design a fair bit of it, but she bowed out of the project halfway into its preparation when S.P.E.W. became a legal department.

She still came back, though, when it finally was finished. And that's when it happened.

' _Hello.'_

' _Hi, there.'_

They hadn't spoken since. Not since opening night. Not since the first stars lit up against the ceiling, twinkling like the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

Sometimes, she thought she saw him here. A few times, she knew she did. Not at the same show. Never at the same time. She was always coming, or going, but she couldn't misplace the platinum-blond hair, nor could she overlook the stormy grey eyes that never rested on her. Always somewhere else. On someone else. But never on her.

This month's exhibit featured the constellations of the visible night sky. The beauty of these types of events rested in the fact that, while there were chairs provided, one could also spread a blanket out in the bewitched grass behind the rows of seating and watch the presentation as if they were truly under the night's sky. And that's always what Hermione did. Except, without the blanket. She prefered laying atop the grass, tucking her arms behind her head, and simply _being_. This felt like the only place she could truly be herself these days. No one to watch her every movement. No drowning in work. No… heartache.

Time worked differently here, too. Just as time worked in different intervals across the universe. What felt like hours in the stuffy office passed like minutes here. Soft music accompanied the presentation in the background, adding to the ambience. Sometimes she would fall asleep and awake with a warm blanket around her -she assumed the staff was used to her presence by now and felt it prudent to make her comfortable. Sometimes, though, it would smell like tea leaves, and peppermint, and… parchment. And she wondered…

Tonight, she refused to fall asleep. There were two presentations tonight, and she was anxious to stay awake for the first one: The Draco constellation. She knew all of the facts, even as the resounding, pleasant voice of the planetarium conductor spoke, guiding the visitors through the exhibit as faux stars danced over their heads, moving with each little fact.

"Draco is the eighth largest constellation in the night sky, containing nine stars with with known planets and the well-known Messier object, the Spindle Galaxy." Spindly, like his frame. _Stop it._ _You're not here to think about him_. "The Draco constellation, in mythology, is associated with the Greek mythological dragon, Ladon, who guarded the golden apples in the garden of Hesperides. The golden apple tree was a wedding gift to Hera when she married Zeus. She planted the tree in her garden on Mount Atlas and tasked Atlas' daughters, the Hesperides, with guarding it. She also placed the dragon Ladon around the tree so that the Hesperides would not pick any apples from it." Well, that sounded about right. Guarding. Just like his demeanor. "In some versions of the myth, Ladon had a hundred heads and was the child of the monster Typhon and Echidna, who was half woman and half serpent." Serpent, they said? How accurate. "Heracles was asked to steal several golden apples from the tree. He killed Ladon with his poisoned arrows and took the apples. Saddened by the dragon's death, Hera placed its image in the sky among the constellations. Draco is usually depicted coiled around the North Pole, with one foot of Heracles on its head…"

Hermione listened intently, caught in the beauty of the winding starlight burning in the universe. _He_ was hot like starlight too, lighting her soul on fire. His heart had been the forbidden fruit, guarded and sought after. But it wasn't gold. Perhaps… golden-plated. Pretty on the outside, but underneath… so much more. So much _grittier_. So hard to love, but it happened anyway, didn't it?

* * *

 **Stage Three: Honeymoon**

 **"Tonight" by John Legend**

 ***(*)***

His hands slid over the graceful curves of her hips as his lips ghosted her ear, whispering like a prayer, "Say it again." The fingers around her hips dug tighter, grasping at the skirting of her dress and hiking it up ever so slightly.

"I… want you." Her arms around his neck drifted up the back of his skull into his white-blonde tresses, loving the silkiness. He was a mixture of gentle and firm all at once as he swayed them to the gentle music. Those who saw him recounted him to be frigid, like a snowstorm. Ice. Sharpness. Cold. So cold. But not to her. He was like lightning striking sand. Beautiful, hot to the touch, complex. He was fire, and destruction, and smoldering every bit of her resolve. It would burn up momentarily, if she weren't careful.

"Come home with me."

"I…"

His lips against her throat, he stoked a gentle purr from her.

"I shouldn't."

"Says you." He was a teaser. It was simply his way. "Please... Hermione." Her name dripping from his tongue reminded her of acid eroding her soul, making room for him to corrode her heart. "I'll make it worth your while."

Oh, of that she had no doubt. It wasn't as if she hadn't already spent the last three nights curled in his lap, kissing him in her quaint living room until they were both breathless. Sure, maybe her shirt had come off last night. Yes, so had his the night before that. But what he asked for now was something entirely… More.

Was it too soon? It felt like yesterday they both sat outside of the tea shop, but time moved so quickly in his presence. He burned a pathway through the very fabric of time -a wormhole. It was now six months later. Six months of dates, and conversations, and meeting friends. Six months for the moon of time to conjoin them like two crashing waves in the ocean, destined to mix and merge. But was it time? Was she ready to take this next step?

Hermione looked around her living room, to the record player her father gifted her with one her twenty first birthday, to the dishes piled neatly in her sink, to Draco, whose pupils only left a faint ring of silver in his irises. Why did she agree to dance with him? She knew this always lit a fire within them both. Bodies molded together. Skin touching skin. The innocence with the underlying tone of sexual tension.

"Please?" he asked again as his lips turned upwards in a seductive smirk right before he brushed them against hers.

"Listen to you," she whispered, smiling coyly, "So polite."

He slid his nose against hers, slowly. Taunting. "I'd like to show you just how _impolite_ I can be." He nibbled at her bottom lip. "I want to show you," he brushed his tongue along her upper lip, "how much," another nibble, "I care about you."

Her eyes fluttered as her breath caught. "You care about me?"

His smirk fell from his lips. "Hermione…" Fingers traced up her sides, over her shoulders, along the length of her neck, resting at her cheeks. His eyes searched hers. "You're my entire world."

Time shifted. She wanted to remain here, lost in this moment forever. To be adored so wholeheartedly, to feel it, and know it, and see it in his eyes… her fingers still laced in his white-blond tresses, she ran them all the way down to the base of his neck, and then around to cup his cheeks. "Yes." She nodded. "I want to go home with you."

That night, their bodies were like waves, dancing and crashing and melding together, lost in the current of the moment. When Draco leaned her back against his silk bed sheets, she had no idea how powerful her emotions would run with his -like two unhinged storms crashing across the shore. They explored, they played, they laughed and moaned and touched.

Draco's teeth against her throat made her scream.

Her hands raking down his back made him shiver.

He wasn't tame with her -he was wild, and she loved every moment. With her legs wrapped around him and her fingers woven in his hair as she came, she heard him whisper, just barely, _"I love you_."

Love. It was supposed to be a choice -something she could decide for herself when she was ready. But hearing the words as they fell from his lips… there was no choice. It happened like the turn of a key in a door. And suddenly… she was.

She let the sweet ecstasy take her for a few more seconds before she untucked her face from his shoulder, traced the outline of his jaw with her fingertips, and whispered back, " _I love you, too_."

* * *

Today was a bit easier. Wake up. Bottle of rum only halfway gone. Hand tucked precariously underneath the waistband of his lounge pants. What had it been up to while he was sleeping?

Thinking of her. That's what.

Damn. He'd been so close to talking to her last night. So close… But, once again, his timing was wrong. By the time he arrived, she was already dozing underneath the false starlight, beneath the constellation he was named for. So poetic. So beautiful. So entirely depressing.

Saturday. Get up. Room spinning. Heart still on the floor? Was it even here at all?

Another week. He would try again next Friday. Just needed to get through another week alone.

 ***(*)***

Hermione's concentration teetered on nonexistent the following week. She'd awoken at the last ten minutes of the presentation to catch his back turned to her, staring up at the starlight above their heads. She hadn't gotten up -hadn't approached him in the least. Even when she desperately wanted to. There was no blanket on her when she awoke. It depressed her. Perhaps it really was just the employees taking pity on the woman who fell asleep under the stars on Friday nights. She watched him leave, and it made her a blubbering mess the next day. She stayed inside. Ate icecream. Watched a marathon on TV. Hid her cassette player so she wouldn't be tempted to listen to their song again.

She needed to remain strong. Why did it still hurt so bad, after all this time? Wasn't there supposed to be some point when time eroded away this selfish love for him? This hope in her heart that things might one day work themselves out? He probably didn't even notice her that night. Or any night, for that matter. She remembered he loved astronomy just as much as she did; it would be his only reason for visiting the planetarium. Had to be, she told herself.

When had things taken a turn for the worst? When had it started?

They were so happy once… what was the tear in the fabric of their reality? What began the unstitching of their hearts?

* * *

 **Stage Four** **: Comfortable**

 **"Gold Rush" by Ed Sheeran  
**

 ***(*)***

"Draco, are you ready to go?" Hermione called out, fixing the collar of her shirt to hide the hickeys he left the night before. Harry barely tolerated Draco as it was; she didn't need to give him a new reason to narrow his eyes. And she didn't even want to start on what Ron's reaction would be to the love bites littering her throat. She applied the last of her lipgloss and checked her messy bun for any stray curls. They usually started to unravel even before she stepped a foot through the floo.

From down the hall, she could hear the clacking of dress shoes, and a heavy sigh as Draco leaned against the doorway, staring down at his tie. "There's a stain."

"What?" She turned her face towards him. "Where?"

He offered out the green and white tie, where a small coffee stain rested in the center of one of the stripes. "Here."

"Nothing a bit of magic can't handle."

"I think I should go home and find another one."

"What?" Her eyebrows furrowed. "Why? We can just fix it here."

"It doesn't even go with my shirt," he said, "I was in a hurry this morning trying to get back here from breakfast with Blaise."

"I'm sorry I couldn't make it," she said, sincerely apologetic. "I had that client meeting, and-"

He cut her off with a chaste kiss to her lips. And then followed up with a seductive one. "Don't apologize. You can make it up to me later… maybe with a reenactment of last night?" He raised a suggestive eyebrow, and she swatted him on the arm, a blush crawling up her cheeks. He smirked. "I'll be there, Hermione. -I still can't believe you're subjecting me to this type of socializing, though."

She rolled her eyes. "It's Harry's birthday."

"Yeah, and Potter and I don't particularly care for each other, if you haven't noticed."

"Harry likes you."

"He _tolerates_ me. And I tolerate him." Draco stared down at his tie, concerned. "Yeah, definitely need to find a different one."

"You could just go without one."

He raised both eyebrows this time. "You want me to look unkempt?"

"Not everyone thinks a tie is needed for _every_ social event."

"Hmph. Barbarians. The lot of you." He shot her a wink. "I'll be back in two shakes."

"We need to leave in ten."

"Alright. Love you."

Another kiss to her lips, this time with more tongue, and then he was down the hall. Hermione heard the crackle of the floo lit to life, and she knew he was on his way back to the manor. She sighed, glancing at herself in her bedroom mirror. She really didn't see why they couldn't have just transfigured the tie here…

*(*)*

Draco stepped out of the fireplace, tossing his tie away to the side. It was ruined, in any case. He was just on his way to his room when he noticed someone sitting on the sofa. Someone with black hair who was sniffling into a throw pillow. "...Pansy?"

Her head darted up, and Pansy Parkinson stared at him, mouth half open, tears streaming down her cheeks as she cried thick, ugly tears. "Draco!" She immediately threw herself from the sofa, tripping on her high heels and falling directly into his arms. Draco made a sneering face, but helped her to her feet. "Oh, Draco. I -I'm so sorry… I didn't know… who else to… Blaise. He's busy, you know. Never has time... " She sobbed into his sleeve, staining it with her running mascara.

"What are you doing in my _home_ , Pansy?" he asked slowly, filled with irritation. "Now isn't the best time. I have to-"

"It's your father," she said. "And my mother."

Draco stiffened. "What?"

Pansy sobbed harder. "I… I think… I think my mother is having an affair… with…"

It didn't take him long to put the pieces together. He pried her off and held her at arm's length, lowering his head eye level with her. "No." He shook his head. "You're… my father… your mum's _married_ , Pans. She wouldn't…" His voice faltered. His eyes narrowed. "They wouldn't…" He cleared his throat. "Are you sure?"

"I saw him sneaking out last night… and when I confronted my mother about it today, she…" Pansy reached up, rubbing her cheek absently while staring into the fire beside them.

"She _struck_ you?"

"I... " Pansy swiped at the bottom of her eyes with her fingertips. "I'm sorry for bothering you. I just… didn't know who else I could… Blaise is always so busy, you know."

Anger boiled up in Draco's chest and erupted out of his mouth in the form of words. "Why do you waste your time with Blaise? He obviously doesn't care for you."

She narrowed her eyes. "Oh. You're going to give me love advice, Draco? You're one to talk. Cozying up to that mudblo-"

" _Watch it_ ," he warned her. "That's my _girlfriend_ you're talking about."

Pansy's voice grew quieter. "I'm sorry. I… she really is a nice girl, I guess." She pulled herself away and walked back to the sofa, clinging to the soggy throw pillow like a liferaft. "I just didn't know where else to go. Mother told me I wasn't to come back until I apologized to her, but… but I know what I saw. I wouldn't want to go back home right now, even if I could." She sniffled. "Do you think it would be alright if I stayed on your couch? Just for tonight. Blaise should be back in town tomorrow. I can stay with him after that." In town? He'd just seen Blaise at breakfast. Strange… he never mentioned leaving town afterwards.

Draco rubbed the back of his head, frustrated. He glanced up at the clock above the mantle -shite. Was that the time? "Sure, Pans. That's fine." He tore off in the direction of the staircase. "I have to change…" He took up the stairs two at a time. He was running behind… Hermione would understand. It's not like he was late often. He dressed quickly, finding an appropriate dress shirt and tie combo, and dashed back down the staircase. It felt so unbecoming to be rushed. Malfoys never rushed.

As he made it to the bottom of the stairs and entered the den once more, he found his ex-childhood sweetheart curled up on the lengthy sofa, sniffling in her sleep. How long had she been here, waiting for him to arrive?

Draco felt torn. He cared the world for Hermione, but this birthday dinner with Potter wasn't something he particularly cared to go to. And while he harbored no romantic feelings for Pansy, he felt terrible for leaving her behind to cry whimpering in her sleep.

Damn it. Was his father really having an affair with Pansy's mum? It sickened Draco to think about it. After all, his mum had only been buried... Merlin, was it really approaching two years?

An impossible choice sat before Draco, and time was crunching for him to make a decision.

He started towards the floo.

"Wait." Pansy lifted her head, apparently not as sleepy as she appeared. "Stay with me? For… for five minutes, please?" She sniffled. "I don't want to be alone."

Draco sighed. "I really should be…" He looked towards the fireplace, thinking. Hermione would understand. Friendships were important. She taught him that. What would she do, if this were Weasley? Or Potter? Or often: Weaslette? "Alright, Pans. Five minutes."

He walked across the den, took a seat next to her, and let her sob into his lap until she fell asleep again. The clock approached six. Shite. He was so late. Carefully, he pried Pansy off of him, threw a bit of floo powder into the hearth, and headed to Hermione's. She wasn't there when he arrived. Instead, a small, folded note lay on the coffee table.

' _Draco. I couldn't wait for you any longer. Hope everything is alright. See you at the party? -Hermione_.'

When he arrived at Potter's, Hermione was, at first, concerned. "Where were you? Are you alright? Oh, look. You found a new tie. -And a new outfit?"

"Long story," he said with a wave of his hand.

"Why were you late?" She brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes.

This was the moment. There always was one - enough of a chance to plant a seed of doubt, even when it wasn't intended. Draco didn't want to think about his father, or Pansy's mum, or their alleged affair, or Pansy. All he cared about, in that moment, was Hermione. Purebloods didn't share their problems with their significant others. It simply wasn't done. He didn't know any better. So he pretended the problem didn't exist. "It doesn't matter." He gave her a smirk. "I'm here now. And I'm sorry I was late." He tucked a fallen strand of hair behind her ear. "I love you."

She stared up at him, pensive. There was a crinkle in her eyebrow, but he wouldn't realize until later that she doubted him for half a moment. "I love you too."

* * *

Another mile logged like a notch in his belt. It hadn't rained a bit today, but the humidity made it feel like a sauna as he trudged on. His knee was nearly healed, but the bruise under his elbow was still yellow -at it's last stages of healing. Draco wished a heart healed as quickly as a scrape or a bruise. Maybe then he wouldn't be so anxious to finish running so he could make his way to the planetarium tonight.

Run. Throw away all thoughts. He didn't need to think about it. He didn't need to wonder if she would ever speak to him again.

Time, like this track, stretched out before him, never really ending. Sure, it looked as if the track could loop back around, but if he wanted to veer off, he could. Just like he could reminisce about the happier times. And the harder times. Merlin, he couldn't seem to focus. He wanted to grab a broomstick -to fly -to do something to take his mind off of it all. But he'd snapped his broom in half, the night they called it quits. He couldn't muster up the strength to purchase a new one. So he ran. To keep the pain at bay. To run from his problems. To run from the fact that no matter how hard he tried to make it about her, the issues stemmed from both of them.

She was better off without him.

He thought he could live without her.

It was a lie. He couldn't. He didn't want to.

Run another mile. Forget her. Forget her. Forget.

 ***(*)***

She saw him again. Friday evening. She arrived later than usual. It was Harry's birthday. Funny how time flew by. She'd been expected to make an appearance and almost didn't make it to the Planetarium at all before it closed. She arrived twenty minutes before, and spotted him. Sleeping on the grass. His arms tucked behind his head. She forgot how entirely otherworldly he appeared when he slept.

Time was never kind to them, she noted. They were always there, parallel paths that never crossed.

There was a knock, and Hermione lifted her head to see Harry peeking into her office. "Hey, Mione."

"Heya, Harry." She smiled, pushing down the disappointment of another Friday lost in time's spiral of the past. "What can I help you with?"

"Just wanted to know if you wanted to grab lunch with Auror Diggle and I?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Diggle? Oh Lord, Harry. Please tell me you're not trying to set me up on a date with him again."

"What's wrong with Diggle?" he asked, cocking his head to the side. "He's an alright bloke, Herms. Successful. Gets along with all of our friends."

"Stop it."

"Alright." He threw up his hands. "Sorry. I just was trying-"

"-I know what you're trying to do, Harry Potter. You're not as smooth as you think you are."

"Damn." He grinned sheepishly. "Well, consider it, at least? You haven't been on a date since… Well, since _Malfoy_. Don't you think it's time to move on?"

"I'm fine, Harry. Besides, I hardly have time to think about dating. I'm so busy with the S.P.E.W." She gestured towards her desk, which was free of any paperwork. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah… Spew seems to be really thumping at the moment…"

"S.P.E.W." She corrected him. "And it is."

"Yeah, alright, Hermione. Whatever you say. -So, no lunch with Diggs and I, then?"

"Sorry." She shook her head. "Another time?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "Another time then."

When the door shut behind him, Hermione picked up her snitch-shaped paperweight and tossed it at the door, smacking it against the wood. "Bold move, Harry Potter…" she grumbled, setting her face in her hands. "Don't you think I know I need to move on? Don't you think I've tried?"

* * *

 **Stage Five: Tolerance**

 **"Fallin" by Alicia Keys**

*(*)*

"You're late."

"Sorry." He dusted off his blazer and loosened the tie around his neck.

"Dinner's cold. Where were you?" She stared up at him with worried eyes. He always seemed to be late. He didn't answer her, turning his face away. "Draco."

"It's nothing, alright?"

"Why do you say it's nothing?"

"Why are you so pushy?"

"I just want to know what's gotten into you! You've been distant."

"It's nothing, Hermione."

 ***(*)***

"I'm starting to think you don't know what privacy is…" Draco stared vacantly from his spot on the sofa, tapping his foot. "You can't just show up whenever you want, Pansy. I have a girlfriend. And she wouldn't be fond of you sleeping here."

"It-It's not that-" Pansy started as an erupting ball of green flames lit up the hearth, and Blaise Zabini stepped through behind her.

"Oi! Draco!" He shouted as soon as he was through the floo. "What's this I hear about Pansy sleeping over at your house, _mate_?"

Draco forced a smirk atop his already agitated face and slapped the book on his lap shut. "Blaise, _mate_." He stood. "Pansy's going through some things. We all are. Maybe if you stopped sticking your cock in other women for two minutes and actually _listened_ to her-"

Blaise withdrew his wand. "You gonna give me advice now, Draco?"

"Blaise!" Pansy threw her arm out. "Stop it! You and Draco are friends!"

"Some friend I have," Blaise snorted, "Sleeping with my girlfriend."

" _Sleeping_ with - I'm not _sleeping_ with her!" Draco refused to draw his own wand. "I have a girlfriend!"

"Then what the Hell is Pansy doing at your house all the time?"

"You don't listen _at all_ , do you?" Pansy slammed her foot down, startling both men. "Blaise, Draco's father is having an affair with my mum! We're both going through some shite, so maybe if you'd pull your head out of your arse-"

"-That's rich, considering you're stuck up Draco's."

"Stop it." Draco glared. "The both of you." He sighed. "Blaise. Sit down. We all should have a talk before you two cause such a scene this ends up in the Daily." He shuddered at the thought. "Bloody Hell… why are you two even _together_? You never listen to each other."

 ***(*)***

"Hey."

She glanced up from her book. "Hi." Her face turned back down.

"Are… you alright?"

"I'm fine."

"Since when does giving me the cold shoulder constitute as fine?"

"Oh, I don't know." She slammed the book shut. "Maybe since you started shutting me out."

"Shutting you out? I was out with my friends."

"Oh. Is that all?" She narrowed her eyes.

He narrowed his own. "I can't hang out with my friends, now?"

"You didn't invite me."

"It wasn't that kind of event."

"Well, what kind of event was it that you couldn't take me along?"

"Hermione? Could you just… leave it alone?"

She sighed. "You're ashamed of me."

He paused. "What?"

"That's it isn't it?" Her voice shook. She swallowed. "Are you ashamed of me? Is that what this is? Why you don't take me out anymore?"

"Ashamed of you?" He looked bewildered. "Jesus-fucking-Merlin, Hermione. Why on Earth would I be ashamed of you? I love you. How could you even _think_ something like that?"

"What else am I supposed to think when you don't talk to me about what's going on in your life?"

"We talk!"

"We _hardly_ talk anymore. And when we do, we aren't listening to each other."

"I listen."

"Fine. Tell me what happened to me last week at work."

"Last week…?"

" _Really,_ Draco? I… I don't even know what to say to you." She stood. "I've got to go."

"But this is _your_ home."

"Fine, then. _You_ may leave."

"I don't want to."

"I don't care if you don't want to. I'm… I'm so furious with you… please, just… go."

"Hermione."

"Don't _Hermione_ me. Do you remember what last week was?"

He scowled.

"It was the opening of my own division at the Ministry. The S.P.E.W. -And guess who never showed up!"

His scowl dropped. "Hermione…"

"No. Don't. Where were you? Is it… is it someone else?"

" _Someone else_?" he scoffed, snorting a sarcastic laugh. "I can't believe you'd even ask me something like that."

"Then tell me what it is! Why are you so distant? Why won't you talk to me?"

"Not everything needs to be a touchy, feeling conversation, Hermione. Sometimes, people just want to be left to themselves. Why isn't that alright?"

"Because I want you to open up to me! I want us to be able to talk about things."

"Hermione. Leave. It. Alone." He glared.

"You want me to leave it alone? Fine. -Out." She pointed to the floo. " _Now_."

"No. I'm not leaving until we're both calm."

"I don't want to be calm! I want to throw a book at you! Is that healthy? Tell me, hmm? I'm making the rational decision. You need to leave."

Angrily, Draco grabbed up a handful of floo powder and tossed it into the flames. "Fine, Hermione. Have it your way."

 ***(*)***

"I'm sorry."

"I am, too."

"I… I was an arse."

"More than an arse."

"Can we just…"

"Hold me."

"Alright."

* * *

Wallet? Check. Nice tie? Check. Courage? Somewhere rattling around in his chest. Why else had he decided tonight, of all nights, was the day to try to break free of the dreaded heartbreak curse and try dating someone new?

He wouldn't go to the planetarium tonight. No. He would take Astoria Greengrass on a date. He could do this. He could…

"Astoria?"

"Yes, Draco?"

"I'm… I'm sorry. I have to go."

"What? Where are you going?"

Draco turned back towards the fireplace. If he could gather the courage to ask someone new to dinner, he could talk to _her_ tonight. "I've places to be."

" _You_ asked _me_ out, remember?"

He tapped his foot, his hands on his waist. "You're a nice girl, Astoria. You deserve someone… whole."

"...What does that make you, then?"

He smirked sadly. "Half. It makes me half. And half of someone… is really no someone at all." And then he was gone, disappearing in a flash of green flame.

 ***(*)***

This wasn't the path she thought she'd be following tonight, hand in hand with Auror Diggle, staring up at the bewitched starlight of the Planetarium as they discussed their day. He was a nice man. Pretty teeth. Green eyes she could get lost in for days. Strong features. Everything a man should be.

But it wasn't enough.

He wasn't _him_. No matter how pretty those green eyes sparkled down at her, they didn't hold a candle to Draco's burning aura. Greg was too pleasant. Too _nice_. Yes, nice was… nice. But it also wasn't genuine. At least, it didn't feel that way to her.

She was just about to release Diggle's hand and tell him that she wasn't ready for this -she needed more time - when she connected with a set of smoldering, rattled, jealous eyes from across the auditorium. The first time, deliberately, in years. His smirk -it was haunting.

And then he turned away from her and was gone.

"Draco…"

Diggle turned to her. "Did you say something, Hermione?"

Hermione fought the urge to cry and turned to Diggle, forcing a smile. "Nothing. It… it was nothing."

* * *

 **Stage Six: Downhill**

 **"Cake" Melanie Martinez**

 ***(*)***

Everything was fine. At least, it seemed that way. Time marched on. Things didn't get fixed. Communication dwindled to 'hellos' and 'what do you want for dinner' and then soon to 'I'm not feeling up to it tonight' and 'Maybe tomorrow'. Draco seemed to distance himself, which, in turn, only made Hermione stew and worry.

And then…

Hermione slammed the morning paper down on top of the dining room table, glaring daggers at Draco. " _When_ were you going to tell me?"

"Tell you?" He raised an eyebrow. "Tell you what?"

"This." She gestured to the front page of the Daily Prophet. "Your father's been having an affair with Rosemary Parkinson? This is why you've been distant, isn't it?"

Draco shrugged.

"I talked to Pansy."

That got his attention. His head rose, and he narrowed his eyes. " _Why_?"

"Why?" She chirped an irritated laugh. "Because for the last few months I thought maybe you'd been seeing someone else behind my back." She sat down next to him, reaching for his hand. He withdrew, pensive, staring at the paper with disdain. "Did you hear me, Draco?" She waved her hand in front of his face. " _Draco_. Say something."

His eyes snapped up to hers. "What do you want me to say?" He appeared genuinely confused.

"Something. _Anything_."

"Fine." She hadn't seen the lightning in his eyes in quite some time -especially in her direction. It took her by surprise. "You had no business talking to Pansy."

"Why not?"

"Because, frankly, Hermione, it _wasn't any of your business_."

And there it was -that proverbial lightning bolt that sent a shockwave all the way down her spine and made the back of her hairs stand on end. It electrified her -charged her like a battery. "None of my business?" She gaped. "None of my… Draco, we're _partners_. That's what relationships are. Partnership. If I had known you were struggling -hurting -I would have-"

"-That's just it, Hermione," he interrupted her, leaning forward. "I don't feel the need to burden you with my problems."

She pursed her lips, staring down at her hands, folded together in front of her on the table. "Does that mean I'm not to come to you with my problems, either?"

" _No_." He reached across the tabletop and attempted to clasp his hands over hers -she withdrew them into her lap. His voice grew terse. "Just because I don't want to unload my burdens on you doesn't _mean_ I meant for you to do the same. It's just not in my nature to share. My problems… my feelings…" He looked off to the side, face unreadable. "It just isn't done."

"Isn't done? By _what_ moral code do _you_ cling to, Draco? You've taken yourself out of the equation more than once. I… I don't know how to talk to you." She stood up. "I need to go to work." He said not a word, just stared at the wall and the spaces between. Until she picked up the floo powder.

"I love you."

She looked at the powder in her hand, wondering just what his definition of love meant. It certainly couldn't mean _this_. "If that's true… you'll prove it to me."

He still didn't look to her -not even as she threw the powder in, said, "Ministry of Magic," and disappeared into the emerald flames.

* * *

Run. Draco needed to run. Run away from his problems. Run away from the image of her holding someone else's hand. Under _their_ starlight. It was the only time -the _only time_ he ever got to see her. To know she was still a living, beating heart in this world. How _could_ she?

Draco stopped running, out of wind and frustrated. He rested his hands on his knees as he bent forward, raggedly attempting to breathe.

How could she?

Rum. He needed rum. And firewhiskey. And vodka. He needed to run. To sweat her out of his system. Merlin, why did he cling to her like she was his lifehouse? Why did he think she would be his salvation? She wasn't the goddamn lifehouse. She was the stormy waves dragging him out to sea. Away from reality. Fuck. Why did he think she still felt something for him? Why did he think the goddamn Planetarium was their sanctuary?

It was his coffin.

Love was a poison. A sweet as sugar quills, light as watered-down lemonade _poison_.

" _Fuck_ …" For the first time since his mother's passing, Draco felt the betrayal of hot tears down his cheeks. He brushed them away with the back of his knuckles, feeling two feet tall and about as worthless as a two-year-old. " _Fuck_ …"

He stood up straight, shook out his tightened limbs, and took off down the beaten path yet again. He needed to stop looking back. Forward. Away from the pain. Away from _her_.

Draco Malfoy lost a piece of his soul that night. His horcrux rested in the heart of Hermione Granger. He would never be whole again. Always half… always.

* * *

 **Stage Seven: Breaking Up**

 **"Drive" by Oh Wonder**

*(*)*

He paced the hallway outside of Hermione's Ministry office door, hands tucked behind his back. They hadn't talked in nearly three days. He tried flooing to her house -she'd shut him out. Panic struck him in the chest when he realized she was _avoiding_ him. He glanced up at the clock in the hallway. Time was slowly crawling towards nine in the morning, and she _still_ wasn't here.

By nine twenty, he gave up and went home. He spent the better part of the afternoon drinking and fucking off with Blaise and Goyle. They broke out the Quidditch gear, as per Blaise's suggestion and tossed the quaffle around in the grand expanse behind Malfoy Manor. It helped. Even if Blaise was an ass. Even if Goyle kept sending Blaise glares for breaking Pansy's heart three weeks ago. Being with his fellow Slytherins felt _-better_.

He was nearly three sheets to the wind when he saw her apparate to the front of the Malfoy Manor gate -and ignored the taunts from his friends when he flew away from them and over to her. As he landed, he stumbled. The world was spinning. She was spinning. But Merlin, wasn't she pretty spinning? He opened the gate and smirked.

"Hermione…"

She curled her arms around herself, frowning. "My secretary said she saw you this morning, waiting by my office door."

"I was." He nodded vigorously -oh, no. That made the world spin more. He leaned against his broom like a walking cane and chuckled. "I… I was looking for you."

"Well, if you actually paid attention as of late, you'd know that my Tuesdays are spent in meetings all morning."

"Oh." His eyebrows drew together. "Yeah… I… I remember that, now." He reached out and threw an arm around her. "I'm really happy to see you."

"You've been drinking."

"Yeah? So what?"

"God, Draco. Really? Is this how you planned on proving yourself to me?" She glanced beyond him, out to where Blaise and Goyle were tossing the quaffle around, no doubt looking like a bunch of drunken gits. "Maybe I should go." She turned to leave, but Draco reached out and caught her by the arm.

"Hermione." He leaned forward, closing his eyes momentarily. The world was spinning. So dizzy… He brushed his nose against hers, peering at her through slits. "I love you."

"Is this what you constitute as love?" she laughed bitterly. "No, Draco. This… this isn't love."

"Of course it is." His chest tightened. He stumbled as he stood up straighter, reaching out with his free hand, that did not grip his broom for dear life, and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear as he said, very seriously, "Don't ever question my love for you."

"Oy! Lover-boy! Quit trying to stick it in her and get back to the game!" Shouted Blaise.

If glares could kill, Blaise would have been knocked off his broom quicker than an _Avada c_ ould ever muster. Draco turned around, flipped his friend the bird, and turned his attention back to Hermione. Who was further away, now. Why did she step back?

"Tell me something," she asked, crossing her arms. "What am I to you?"

He blinked, eyebrows crumpling in sneerful confusion. "What sort of question is _that_ , Hermione? You're my girlfriend."

"And what does that description include? Nightly shags? Cooking you breakfast? Unloading my baggage while you never open up to me?"

A sly, drunken smirk crossed his lips. "Daily shags, too." He cursed himself. "No." He shook his head. "Wait." Merlin, why couldn't he keep his quips to himself? "That's not what I meant."

"Wha _t did_ you mean, then, Draco?"

"You act like it's so easy. To just open up. The way you talk, my emotions are a bloody book, and all I need to do is open it up to the correct page and bleed my heart out to you. It's not that simple."

"It _is_ that simple," she told him. "And… if you can't do that…" She swallowed, then inhaled. At her exhale, she wrote their fates in the afternoon air. "Then… we're through."

Draco Malfoy had never sobered up faster in his life. "Through? What do you mean 'through'?"

"I mean…" Her voice cracked. She took another step back as he tried to reach for her. "We're done. This relationship. It's… over."

It didn't hit him all at once -it cracked over his head like an egg, oozing down his body like a gooey, sticky mess. He made the mess. He cracked that egg. He ruined it. Merlin, could he find a way to take it back?

"Hermione-"

But she had already turned and stepped back through the gate, Disapparating as soon as she was beyond the wards of the Manor.

And just like that, the last stitch in the fabric of their time together unravelled. Draco couldn't move. He couldn't think. The world spinned, but not because of the alcohol burning through his system. His was thrown off his axis as his heart fell out of his chest. The switch that turned on the moment she came back into his life flipped back off. His world no longer illuminated with color. It was a black, bleak world with cold, and darkness, and pain. It was worse than the War. It was worse than being ordered to kill Dumbledore. It was worse than anything Draco Malfoy had felt before.

He took the broomstick in his hand and cracked it over his knee, breaking it in two.

Fuck the world. Fuck it all.

It wasn't worth being a part of if she wasn't a part of it.

* * *

She didn't seem him the following Friday, or the one after that. Hermione looked for him -hoped he would appear just once more so she could talk to him. It didn't hit her until he looked her in the eyes for the first time in so long: the pain in her chest would never stop unless she received closure.

The weeks bled like the ink in his book that day in Diagon Alley. The stars didn't shine as brightly in the Planetarium. Food tasted bland. Colors dulled. Knowing that Draco Malfoy no longer visited the stars on Friday evenings did something to Hermione's soul. It shattered it.

What if she never saw him again?

It had been easier when she knew there was a possibility… just a possibility of a glance. But now... What if he disappeared out of her life completely? The way she thought she wanted but never did?

Then it hit her -like a lightning bolt from the sky- three months after their eyes locked. She saw the postcard in the giftshop and smiled. She could do this. She needed this, and… something told her he did, too.

She wrote down three simple words and sent the postcard off the next day.

She only hoped it was enough.

 ***(*)***

' _Eight on Friday.'_

Draco stared down at the postcard with a picture of the constellation he was named for. A smirk peeled back his lips like lighting fire to a paper.

He closed his eyes on Sunday; for the first time, he slept through the night without a drop of liquor to keep him company.

 ***(*)***

Time. It healed all wounds. But it couldn't do it's job if someone kept picking at the scab until it bled. Then, it would scar. Just like the scar on Hermione and Draco's hearts.

She arrived at seven forty-five p.m. on Friday, unknowing if he would show. She never received a reply, but… a part of her hoped. It was that same hope that kept the embers of their love burning deep within her heart.

There wasn't a presentation tonight. Simply the night sky illuminating with faux starlight. _Their_ starlight.

With a deep breath and high hopes that teetered on unhealthy, Hermione took her usual spot in the magical grass of the Planetarium, tucking her arms behind her head and smiling up at the starlight. It was so beautiful. So calm. So… constant.

Someone cleared their throat beside her.

She sat up.

He sat down.

Their eyes connected.

She couldn't help the anxious smile.

He forced a nervous smirk.

" _Hello."_

" _Hi, there."_

Time. It healed all wounds. Sometimes with separation. But other times… with growth. Like the stars that lit up the night sky, time never slowed down. It traveled in the ever-expanding universe, weaving the fabric of realities.

"I was… I was a prick."

"You were."

"I'm _so sorry_. Hermione, I never wanted to hurt you. You were right. Merlin-fucking-damn-it, you were so right, and I… _never_ want to be that way again. It was selfish. And reckless. You have to believe-"

She kissed him. Chaste. But telling. It shut him up immediately.

Fingers laced, like the stitches of their broken hearts being sewn back together. With each word spoken, they felt the pull -the conjoining of their timelines being drawn back together like rivers to the ocean. Like stars to the universe. Like love. Like life. Like time. All they needed was some time to grow. To realize what was lost and start anew.

Time. It was all they ever needed.

* * *

 **~FIN~  
Please feel free to leave your thoughts.  
~A.**


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